


Aftershock

by PenPatronusAooO



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e23 Insatiable, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Nogitsune, PenPatronus, PenPatronusAooO, RIP Allison Argent, Season/Series 03, Werewolf Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPatronusAooO/pseuds/PenPatronusAooO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek arrives at Oak Creek too late to help with the Oni, too late to save Allison, but just in time to look after the ailing Stiles. Written after "Insatiable" but before "The Divine Move" aired.</p><p>STORY COMPLETE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftershock

When her throat was raw from screaming and her cheeks were one giant tear, Lydia sagged against Stiles and wrapped his limp arm around her waist. It was like hugging a corpse – he was that cold. And he was dying. Lydia felt his death at the bottom of her lungs – a scream starting to sprout. But his heart beat under her palm. His breaths were shallow but she still felt them against her forehead. She clung to him, burying her nose into his shoulder, her life preserver as waves of sorrow and regret crashed down on her. "Allison," she hiccupped. And then she begged, to whoever was listening, "Not Stiles, too. Please, please, please not Stiles, too."

Suddenly, the arm around her jerked. Stiles' fingers found her dress and rubbed the fabric like it was a security blanket. "Lydia?" he whispered. She looked up, hoping to be greeted by brown eyes, but they were still shut. His cheeks and lips were bleach white and he barely enunciated the words he spoke. "Is everyone – is everyone ok?" Stiles licked his lips and struggled through a deep breath.

Lydia stifled a squeak. Stiles needed her to be strong. She had to take care of him. Even though he wasn't looking at her she wiped her tears away and put on a brave face. "Hey, sweetie, we're going to get you home soon, all right? Everything's fine."

Stiles pried open his eyes and Lydia was surprised to see tears in them. "The thing about good liars," he whispered, his voice trembling, "is that we can tell when others are lying."

Lydia couldn't help it: water flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Stiles squeezed her. "Who?"

"Al-Allison," she gulped. "She's g-gone, Stiles. She's dead. She's dead."

Stiles stared unblinking for so long that for half a second Lydia thought he'd just died. But then his eyes snapped shut, but not before the tears fell. He pulled Lydia against his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. And he held her, both of them silent, until the sound of footsteps caught their attention.

Lydia twisted around and saw familiar silhouettes at the end of the corridor. "Here!" she croaked. "We're down here."

The Scott-shaped shadow froze at the sight of them, then leaned against the wall and groaned. "His heart's beating," the Derek-shaped silhouette assured him. "Stiles is alive, Scott. Come on." The two werewolves jogged down the hall – the taller one pulling the shorter one by the elbow.

Derek leapt over Lydia and knelt by Stiles' side. He immediately laced Stiles' fingers with his and started to pull out the pain like a loose thread. Scott, with his pale, contorted, not-sure-if-this-is-a-dream face, slid to his knees beside Lydia. He opened his arms to hug her, then remembered that Allison’s blood was all over his hands and clothes. Lydia didn't mind. She grabbed him around the neck and pulled him close into a group hug, Scott, Stiles and Lydia all wrapped around each other.

"I sh-should've tried harder to warn you," Lydia sobbed. "I sh-should've tried harder to escape."

Scott just shook his head.

"I'm sorry," said Stiles. "This is m-my fault. All of this."

"You know it's not." Scott cupped Stiles' cheek.

"I should've just – Scott, I should've just killed myself when—"

"Don't." One single hot tear dripped from Scott's eye and landed in Stiles' lap. "Don't, Stiles." His voice cracked.

Stiles shook his head. "I'm sorry… I don't know, I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll be ok." Scott's mouth suddenly twisted and his nose wrinkled. Lydia rubbed his back as he crumbled around his grief. "I can't lose you, too, Stiles." Scott's voice went up an octave. "I c-can't!" A heavy part sob, part scream erupted from Scott's chest and he bowed into Stiles' embrace, his face squished against the ribs above Stiles' heart. Stiles took his other hand back from Derek and returned the hug with all of his strength.

"Why don't you get Lydia out of here," Derek offered Scott after enough time had passed. "I'll help Stiles."

Scott sniffed and nodded. "Bring him to my house so my mom can check him out, ok?" Together, as graceful as newborn fawns, Lydia and Scott helped each other stand up and stumble down the corridor.

When they were alone, Derek took Stiles' hand again to take away more of the pain. Stiles lolled his head to the side and looked at the werewolf through hooded, bloodshot eyes. "Derek," Stiles whispered, "don't bother. Pain or not, I'm still dying." He tried to take his hand back and failed. "Promise me something?"

"What, sour-fox?" Derek forced a small, humorless smile.

Stiles' smile was genuine. It was also brief. "Look after them for me. Scott, Lydia, my dad… Promise me you'll take care of them when…" Stiles sighed instead of finishing the sentence.

Derek grinded his teeth together. "When you're on vacation?"

Stiles' chest bounced with a mute chuckle. "You and Isaac need to leave the comic relief to me."

Derek stared down at the black rivulets migrating from Stiles' skin to his. "Think you can walk? At least stand up?"

"Derek…" Derek made himself look into Stiles' sallow face. "If the only way to kill the demon is to kill me—"

Derek shook his head. "We're not there yet," he said.

"Allison's dead," Stiles hissed. "If we were 'there' an hour ago she'd still be alive."

Color flooded Derek's cheeks. "You listen to me," he growled. "You may be ok with sacrificing yourself but we're not. I've lost too many people I care about and I am not losing you. Now, can you get up or not?"

Stiles no longer had the energy to argue. "I think so. Just – just give me a hand." Derek gripped Stiles' fingers and elbow and held him steady as he pushed himself up the wall one step at a time. A frown slid down Stiles' face and he turned a shade paler. "Ok, maybe I… Maybe I spoke too soon." Stiles teetered.

Derek thrust his arms under Stiles' knees and back and scooped him up. Stiles groaned in pain and his limbs went limp. "You tell anyone about carrying me like a bride and I'll turn your wolf ass into a fur coat," Stiles muttered before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he passed out.

Derek suddenly remembered something Peter said when Cora was dying, about what was instrumental for healing, and he gently rubbed his cheek against Stiles' forehead before he carried him out.

**The End ******


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